The Flying Scotsman

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “You could say that of one man in five, I suspect,” I interjected. “Any man of moderate height and build is less likely to be clearly recalled than anyone more distinctive.”

  Holmes looked at me. “Such as having a green right eye and a blue left one?” he suggested gently.

  “I am also slightly above average height,” I said.

  “That is one of the many reasons they can succeed,” Miss Gatspy said, for once not inclined to argue with me and to keep our discussion to the purpose. “They may be anything from twenty-five to forty, although we believe that—”

  “ ‘We’ being the Golden Lodge,” said Mycroft Holmes, his face set.

  “Of course,” she told him. “We believe that one is at least five years older than the other, and a few in the Golden Lodge are convinced the two men are related—brothers, uncle and nephew, cousins, something of the sort.” She glanced at Holmes. “Does your source agree?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said drily.

  The Flying Scotsman began to move once more, the engine sending white billows out into the night as it began to draw onto the main track.

  “We know they have spent time in America, not only for the purpose of assassination, but we do not think they are Americans,” she said firmly. “We are of the opinion that one of them may have been raised there, but that is far from certain. Our records indicate that one of them was wounded four years ago, and some of our officers think a different man replaced one of the two men afterwards, but that is by no means certain.” She looked in my direction. “You have seen how coolly they work.”

  “I would agree, but for the spent shells,” I said, determined not to be too much taken with her description.

  She laughed. “Good God, you don’t mean that you actually thought—Don’t you know that the shells were left to confuse you? Surely you do not think the weapon they use really is a German hunting rifle, possibly one from Mauser, do you? The shells are left to create an incorrect impression, to make investigators wear themselves out searching for a rare weapon when the one in question is not uncommon, but not quite ordinary either. Our authorities say that the weapon they use is an American Sharps rifle. I suspect they are basing this more on familiarity than fact. The Sharps is certainly capable of being the weapon, but is too bulky to conceal and we’ve had not a single sighting of a man with a rifle anywhere near any of the shooting scenes.”

  I sat listening in an emotion that was very nearly dismay, for I could not summon up any argument to offer in the face of such persuasion. I was aware that Mycroft Holmes was as convinced as I. “What makes your ... superiors in the Golden Lodge so sure of these things?”

  “I’ve told you we have records. We have a most interesting file on Loki. When the attempt was made at Saint Paul’s and the empty shells were found, the Golden Lodge took up the search for Loki at once. Our files are extensive, Mister Holmes—comb. They are gathered from every place in the world where the Brotherhood has a foothold, and they are reviewed and compared twice each year. I believe we may have the most complete compilation of assassins to be found anywhere in the world.” She was not exactly boasting, but she was not showing excessive humility, either.

  “A very useful register,” said Mycroft Holmes. “And if it is as exhaustive as you claim, I would very much want to see it if such could be arranged.” He did not dwell on this unlikely possibility, but went on, “When you came aboard this train, did you suppose the assassin we were dealing with was this Loki?”

  “As I have said already, since the attempt in front of Saint Paul’s,” she said. “It is precisely what Loki did in the Argentine, only there the second assassin was able to strike that evening while the police pursued the first of the pair through the streets of Buenos Aires. The man was the Finance Minister, and his death threw certain crucial mining negotiations into confusion.”

  “I recall the event,” said Mycroft Holmes emphatically. “But as I recollect, a man was executed for the crime.”

  “Yes, because someone had to have the blame, and both Lokis were gone from the country, well beyond the reach of the Argentines. Not that they bothered to look once they found a man who owned a printing press and a Mauser .30-caliber hunting rifle.” She smiled without humor or mirth. “Your use of this train was a masterful stroke, sir,” she continued, her whole attention on Holmes so utterly that I might have found it in my heart to be jealous, were I inclined to such an emotion where Miss Gatspy was concerned.

  “It would have been if we had kept to schedule. But, as you see, we have been thrown into disorder.” He did his best to look unconcerned about this, but I could see how very dismayed he was beneath his sang-froid.

  Prince Oscar studied the shaded window. “Do you think I have anything to fear?”

  “Probably not, had all gone according to plan,” said Miss Gatspy, “but there have been too many delays and misadventures to—”

  Mycroft Holmes thumped his fist onto his knee. “This is a most damnable coil. I do not apologize for my intemperate language, Miss Gatspy, for the situation would be made trivial by less forceful words.”

  “The train has been slowed by more than half its usual speed, and that, in turn, increases the risk of exposure to ... Herr Schere.” She favored me with a look I did not know how to read. “I believe that Loki might have been puzzled or thrown off the scent at the first, but once we were delayed in Bedford and Sheffield, I worried that Loki would know to come after us.”

  “Do you say that there are spies on this train?” I demanded, feeling foolish, for I knew of two already; yet I would not betray my knowledge to her without learning more.

  “No doubt. But I doubt that they suspected your ploy until after the Jardine murder,” said Miss Gatspy. “That was a lucky mischance for Loki and their agents.”

  “Then you think they have pursued us?” Prince Oscar’s visage was somber, which was hardly amazing given the circumstances.

  “I presume one followed the navy’s double,” Holmes interjected. “But your point is well-taken; the other may be aboard.”

  “And may have been from the first,” said Miss Gatspy. “You are not the only one to see the advantages of Scotland. If Loki wished to reduce the risk of both being captured, one might well go north while the other went toward the Channel.”

  “I wish this did not make so much sense,” said Holmes. “Since I have read the report from my source, I have wondered if we might have inadvertently put ourselves in harm’s way, and given the assassin a new opportunity.” He lowered his head, pondering. “Or, more sinister still, if the assassin were informed he would have an opportunity to finish his work on this journey. If the police have been compromised, might not the corrupted officer or officers inform the assassin of Herr Schere’s whereabouts? If that is the case, the assassin might have been able to monitor the progress of the damned journey and come aboard to finish his task. Given the delays we have encountered, the man could well catch this train if he departed from London an hour or so after we did.” He turned his somber gaze on Prince Oscar. “I must apologize for putting you so much at risk.”

  “Tut,” said the Prince with a jauntiness that startled me. “You had no reason to think you were doing that—in fact, your intentions were quite the opposite—when you arranged this departure and our little deception. A man in my position must understand the game that is played for high stakes.” He nodded in my direction. “So far, it appears Guthrie has taken the brunt of our hazards, and for that I am extremely grateful.”

  We were finally traveling at speed once again, the train swaying in regular rhythm with the click of the wheels.

  I felt color mount in my bruised face. “You’re most gracious. I am only doing my work.”

  “Oh, very good, Guthrie,” Miss Gatspy approved, her wicked praise ringing sarcastically in my ears.

  “And you
have allowed Miss Gatspy the time to instruct me in all the nefarious acts of the Brotherhood. If half of what she says is true, my brother has fallen in with villains indeed.” The Prince paused. “Do you think Karl Gustav would agree with you regarding his associates in the Brotherhood? Might he not see them in much the same light as you represent the Golden Lodge? Not that I accuse you of deception, Miss Gatspy—that is not the case at all—but you are not a disinterested party, and you have good reason to persuade me to view your work in a favorable light and the efforts of the Brotherhood in a negative one.”

  “No one is truly disinterested,” I said before anyone else could speak. “If they claim to be, they are the most subtle of all, and you would do well to be wary of them. Those who have reason to know these things cannot understand what the issues are and remain disinterested unless they are also wholly removed from the world.”

  “Very good, Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes, echoing Miss Gatspy’s praise with none of her sarcasm. “I must concur. And so will you, Mein Herr, if you will but think about the stakes for which we are competing.” He gestured. “I think it would be best if you and Guthrie changed compartments. You need not move your luggage, but if you will stay here in compartment three, Guthrie will occupy compartment four, ready to deal with any incursions that may arise.”

  I had expected something of the sort and so I showed no surprise at this recommendation. “That is satisfactory to me, sir,” I said.

  Prince Oscar shook his head. “You have taken more than your share of risks, Guthrie. It is time I—”

  Mycroft Holmes made bold to interrupt. “You will have to face your brother once you arrive home, and all his support within your court and government. Here we are in a position to guard you, and it is appropriate for us to do so. This is a minor thing, and furthermore, it is part of Guthrie’s duties to provide this protection. I ask you to reconsider; if you move to this compartment, you will have a degree of protection that we could not otherwise offer you.”

  I decided to add my observations. “If you think that bruises are enough to make me useless, you do not know what a mentor like my employer can teach. Once we arrive in Scotland, I will have ample opportunity to rest, while you will be entering a more demanding phase of your task as a leader. My bruises will heal. You will need all your steadfastness for many months to come. I am pleased to be able to secure a short respite for you, if you will but allow it.”

  “By all means,” Miss Gatspy put in. “I have seen Guthrie in action before, and I can assure you he has endured worse than this for far less obvious benefits.” Her smile in my direction made me bristle with indignation.

  The Prince coughed delicately. “Perhaps it would be best,” he said, adding as an explanation. “I do want to do my part.”

  “As well you should,” Holmes approved. “In this case your part is to make yourself as hard-to-strike a target as possible. When you reach Sweden, you may throw caution to the winds—although I hope you will not—and take whatever chances you deem necessary in the face of an implacable enemy; but while you are a guest of England and Scotland, let us do our utmost to show you our high regard for you.”

  “And our treaty,” added Prince Oscar, continuing on before Mycroft Holmes could protest. “Oh, do not worry. I support this treaty as much as you do, and I am not reckless by nature, but that does not keep me from chafing.”

  “Very understandable,” said Holmes. “In your situation, I would certainly feel the same.” He smiled. “So, Guthrie, bring your portfolio and come along to compartment four. You may leave this compartment for Herr Schere. Miss Gatspy, you will want to occupy your own compartment once we leave Carlisle, or there will be wagging tongues which you would not like and which would bring attention to your being here—”

  “Yes, I know,” she said quietly. “And you are right. I am in an excellent position to be your sentinel without putting the assassin on alert, if he has managed to board the train. I have my pistol with me, do not fear. I will keep watch from my compartment in case anyone should enter the car from the rest of the train.”

  “Which, after Carlisle, will move more quickly, having fewer cars to pull,” I reminded them all. “The Glasgow leg will be shifted to another engine at Carlisle.”

  “Damned annoying,” said Holmes. “We will have to watch that change as carefully as we can. They will off-load all the baggage going to Glasgow before we resume our journey, and that will put us at risk while the confusion is greatest. Take care not to draw attention to our intention, if that is possible, for that could expose us to far greater dangers than any we may seek to alleviate. We must all remain alert.”

  “It’s a shame,” said Miss Gatspy, “that Sir Cameron did not elect to return home through Glasgow.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Holmes, and sighed once. “Why he should be aboard is more than I want to think about. But we cannot forget him, much as we may want to.” He put his big hands on his knees. “What can we do to ensure he does not become embroiled in our—”

  Miss Gatspy laughed, sarcasm robbing her tone of any lilt. “You cannot anticipate what Sir Cameron might do. He is cumbersome and unpredictable, but do not assume that we are wholly at the mercy of his caprice. He has enough alcohol in him to render him incapable of much action, as his valet must tell you.”

  At the mention of the valet, I frowned. “Fellow told me he has not been long in Sir Cameron’s employ,” I began.

  “I should think that is the usual situation with Sir Cameron’s valets,” said Prince Oscar. “A man of his nature does not usually command the loyalty of servants. When I had one evening in his company, I knew he had no respect for others. It was amusing for a short time, and annoying after that, especially since he supposed he would make a favorable impression on me through such methods.”

  The sound of a crossing bell caught our attention, and I wondered briefly which road we had just passed.

  “True,” said Holmes. “But I doubt that is the reason for Guthrie’s observation.” He smiled faintly. “What is it that bothers you?”

  “Well,” I said carefully, “I am curious about anyone connected with this mission who is a stranger to our fellow-passengers, particularly one situated so near to Herr Schere. Sir Cameron’s valet still concerns me. What would Loki—either one of them—make of an opportunity like this?”

  “It isn’t Loki,” said Miss Gatspy, “though the point is well-taken.”

  “How do you know it isn’t Loki?” I challenged her, an irrational Spurt of anger making me sharp with her.

  “Because he is the wrong build. The man might change his hair or his face—you know an actor so you know how that is done—but he cannot change his skeleton.” Miss Gatspy made her pronouncement. “He is too thin and his height is wrong.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Holmes asked. “You have admitted the two men are resourceful and—”

  “If they have discovered a way to change their frames, more than the Golden Lodge will want to know of it,” said Miss Gatspy testily. “Whatever else that valet might be, he is not Loki.” She made a quick gesture. “For the security of this car, we must concern ourselves with passengers from the other cars.”

  “Or the staff,” I put in. “The maître d’ used to work aboard ship or I know nothing of the sailors’ walk. If he brought food or drink to Sir Cameron we could not properly detain him.”

  “That may or may not be significant,” said Mycroft Holmes. “If my brother were with us, he might make something of it, but I would need more than a walk, for it is possible he served on liners as well as in the navy, in which case his earlier employment has no bearing on us.”

  “Unless his experience as a merchant seaman brought him into the arena of the Brotherhood,” I persisted, loathe to give up my second candidate. “In which case he becomes doubly suspect.”

  “Very true,” said M
iss Gatspy. “But I will be in a position to watch him, and with Guthrie in compartment four instead of Herr Schere, we may keep our charge as protected as anyone aboard.”

  “True enough,” Mycroft Holmes allowed. “And I must tell you that I am inclined to think the maître d’ has held his position for long enough that he ought not to be our first suspect. There could be others—waiters, for instance—who have worked for the railroad only a short while, and who might be considered more suspicious.” He rose. “Come, Guthrie. It is time we put ourselves into position.”

  Miss Gatspy, too, prepared to leave. “If I notice anything that alarms me, I will tap on the wall between compartment four and five to alert you,” she said to me. “If I have to leave my compartment for any reason, I will scratch on your door.”

  “Very good,” Holmes approved.

  I gathered up my portfolio. “Will you need me to send and receive telegrams at Carlisle?”

  “Yes, of course I will. In fact, I am depending upon you to look over the shifting of baggage and the separation of the rear cars. If you time your movements, you should be able to make your observations with a modicum of difficulty.” Holmes actually held the door for me. “Be about it, dear boy.”

  Taking care to keep my face away from the outer window, I slipped into compartment four, glad now that the shades were down. The lamps were low, and I turned them up so that I could have sufficient light to make my notes regarding my climb over the train, which Mycroft Holmes would expect to have in his hands by the time we reached Edinburgh. I found, as I did my best to be comfortable on the day-bed, that my shoulders were stiff, making my handwriting crabbed. I kept at it, as much to keep from fretting as to finish the report. Sitting was not as easy as I had expected, for some of the soreness in my hip made the constant rocking of the car a trial. I did my best to complete my work in good time.

  I was vaguely aware when we passed Hawes Junction, indicating we had less than ten miles to Kirkby Stephen, where we would have a brief halt, but not one long enough to send telegrams. Satisfied that my report touched on all the significant points of the evening, I slipped the pages into my portfolio before I set up the day-bed for resting, telling myself I might have a short nap between Kirkby Stephen and Carlisle, where I would need to be active once again. As I removed my boots, I decided against taking a composer, for that might make me groggy when I would need most to be alert. But that would also mean dealing with aching shoulders and hip, an unpleasant but necessary bargain, or so I convinced myself as I turned down the lamps and lay back on the day-bed.